


Letters of the Alphabet

by Azaelia_Foxburr



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M, a mish-mash of fluff and angst and other stuff, heaps of pining, mountains of it in fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaelia_Foxburr/pseuds/Azaelia_Foxburr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of mutually unrequited love told in 26 drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters of the Alphabet

**Author's Note:**

> None of this is in chronological order or anything, just whatever happened to strike my fancy.

**Anniversary**

He stands in front of the grave, shoulders hunched, head bowed. He looks shrunken, lost, and for a moment I see him as the same little boy who lost his parents all those years ago.

Above us, dark clouds begin to gather in the greying sky and a growl of thunder threatens an oncoming storm. The wind picks up, carelessly tossing his unruly blonde curls.

"Sir, we should depart soon."

"Just a few more minutes, Jeeves."

His voice is a small, lonely thing.

I reach out to touch his shoulder, but then I remember myself.

Achingly, I withdraw my hand.

 

**Birthday**

"Thank you, sir. It is a wonderful gift."

Jeeves' tone is politely appreciative as always, his words suitably thankful. On the surface, he seems mildly pleased, but otherwise unmoved, by his gift.

The twinkle in his eyes, however, tell me he's just as chuffed as I am.

It's a dashed odd thing, how seeing someone happy because of something you gave them makes you just as happy yourself. It gave me warm, pleasant flutter in my stomach. Though that might just've been my reaction to seeing how bally lovely Jeeves looked, face all aglow with delight.

I feel myself grinning.

 

**Chocolate**

"Come try one of these chocolates Oofie brought back from Belgium, Jeeves!"

He proffers the little cube of confectionary to me, held delicately between his thumb and index finger.

I take it from him and bite into the sweet.

The chocolate is nothing short of ambrosial, its texture smooth and creamy. The trace of almond tempers the sweetness of the honey, and the hint of cranberry adds a refreshing tartness to the otherwise cloying richness.

"Good, isn't it?" he beams up at me.

"Indeed, sir."

I cannot help thinking it would have tasted far more delicious licked off his fingers.

 

**Dance**

Jeeves cuts a fine figure in the hall, with his immaculate white tie and considerable height. The characteristic grace which manifests itself in his everyday movements clearly translates onto the dance floor as well, and he moves with the fluidity and elegance of a leaf riding on a spring zephyr. To tell the truth, Bertie has never seen his valet dance before, but it seems only right that he should excel in it the way he excels in all things.

Bertie thinks he wouldn't mind seeing Jeeves dance again, and would mind even less if he could dance with him.

 

**Eggs**

The kitchen resembles a war zone. Cupboard doors are flung open, the sink is stacked with various dishes and bowls. A glass bottle lies shattered on the floor, milk slowly seeping across the floor tiles. And the eggs. The eggs are everywhere. All cracked and dripping, in the dustbin, on the counter, on the walls.

"Omelette, Jeeves?" My master offers sheepishly as he vigorously scrapes charred bits of yellow out of the frying pan onto a plate with a fork.

It is only with the utmost effort that I manage to suppress the laugh threatening to bubble from my lips.

 

**Fishing**

I hated fishing, I decided.

The little boat, if it could even be called that, roiled to and fro in a distinctly stomach churning manner. And for hours now we'd seen nothing but mile upon mile of boring, empty blue.

I regretted agreeing to this whole bally outing, and glared balefully up at Jeeves, the man responsible for this Wooster's current state of misery. He stood confidently at the stern, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal  sculpted forearms, usually impeccable hair ruffled by the sea breeze, a look of utter contentment on his map.

...Perhaps I didn't entirely hate fishing.

 

**Garden**

I am walking along the garden path when I note, with some surprise, Mr. Wooster's face peering out of the bushes.

"Sir?"

Before I can say another word, his arm shoots out, dragging me into the bushes.

"Might I enquire--"

A hand clamps itself firmly over my mouth, stemming my words. I turn to raise a questioning eyebrow at my captor. In explanation he mouths the word " _Bassett_ " and I nod in understanding.

From our position, my back pressed flush against his chest, I can feel his heart racing.

I doubt it races for the same reason as mine.

 

**Hiccups**

"It appears-hic!-I have a case of-hic!-hiccups, sir."

Jeeves is the very picture of disgruntlement, if disgruntlement wore a morning coat and bobbed up and down with hiccups.

"It is-hic!-said a sudden shock to the-hic!- system can cure this-hic!-ailment, sir."

"Dashed if I can shock the hiccups out of you, Jeeves. You're imperturbable as a bally rock."

In truth, I can think of a way to shock Jeeves. But I wonder if kissing him mightn't be _too_ big a shock to his system, so I instead I say "I'll get you a glass of water to drink upside down, old fruit."

 

**Ice skating**

He skitters across the ice like a new born foal, uncertain and unsteady on his legs. It is inexplicably endearing to watch, though I endeavour to keep close by lest he require my assistance. When he inevitably loses his balance and stumbles, I dart across to offer a steadying hand. Instead, I find my arms full of one Bertram Wooster, hair tousled from the wind, cheeks rosy pink from the cold, bright blue eyes dancing. "Hullo there, Jeeves," he grins up sheepishly at me, both hands grasping the front of my coat.  "Hello, sir," I cannot help but smile back.

 

**Jagged**

I see it completely by chance.

As I turn to close the door and leave the doctor's examination room, I catch sight of it when Jeeves slips his shirt off powerful shoulders.

A scar starts from the base of his right collar bone and runs across to his right shoulder blade. It is angry and red and jagged like a lightning bolt, and I am momentarily stunned.

Then I remember myself and quickly shut the door. A sudden wave of nausea and grief overwhelm me as I am reminded, yet again, of how little I truly know about my man.

 

**Kiss**

"Hello, Jeeves. Would you like a kiss?"

The question takes me so by surprise that I am robbed of all cognitive function, and left to stare blankly at my master, looking at me expectantly from beneath long lashes, an innocent smile on his face as if he had just asked about the weather.

"Oh Jeeves, do stop wearing that stuffed-frog face of yours. It's only a bit of fun!" He laughs, a bright, lovely sound, and drops something into my hand before leaving the room.

I look at the tin foil wrapped sweet in my palm.

Ah yes, Hershey's kisses.

 

**Laugh**

"A yeti in knee high shorts, that's what Spode is," I grumble as Jeeves places an ice pack on the impressive shiner on my cheekbone, courtesy of aforementioned Spode.

Jeeves makes a startled choking sound. I blink.

"Jeeves, did you just...laugh?"

"Certainly not, sir," he replies evenly, but a faint blush colours his cheeks.

"You did laugh!" I crow, part gleeful, part incredulous.

"Excuse me, sir, I believe more ice is required," Jeeves responds coolly, and exits the room a tad too swiftly.

Jeeves had laughed. And what's more, _I_ had made him laugh.

I vowed to do it again.

 

**Madness**

I allow my hands to travel up his flanks, and press butterfly kisses to the inside of his knee, slowly working upwards to the velvet skin of his inner thigh. His grip in my hair tightens and I look up to find him gazing at me with eyes blown wide, filled with desire and infinite fondness. I clamber forward, and his face is inches from mine when…

I wake with a start, panting and disoriented and hard. It’s the third time this week. With a groan, I roll over and smother myself beneath the pillows, wishing this madness would end.

 

**Naps**

He is a study in gold. The late afternoon sun seeps through the day curtains, enveloping his reclining form in light. He is stretched out on the chesterfield, long limbs elegantly sprawled. A book rests on his chest, spine cracked open to where he's stopped. I know his clothes will be most horribly crumpled when he awakes, but I am loathe to disturb him. Not when he looks like that. In a moment of reckless indulgence, I  lean forward to brush a stray curl from his brow. Perhaps it is my imagination, but his lips seem to curl slightly upwards.

 

**Octopus**

If asked what animal would best represent my man Jeeves, I'd be at a bit of a loss. He's wise as an owl, stubborn as a mule and regal as a lion.

But I suppose if I were pressed to choose, I'd say Jeeves is an octopus. He manages to juggle being all sorts of animals at once, while fishing the y.m out of whatever soup and quoting Spinoza on the side. You'd think he has eight arms instead of the usual two the rest of us muddle along with. But whatever species of fauna, he’s bally wonderful to me.

 

**Postcard**

_Dear Jeeves,_

_What-ho! How go things across the channel? Hope the  fishing's been good so far. I'm sure there's plenty of sun , sand and sea over there, but it's been raining cats and dogs back here in Old Blighty, I'm afraid. Terribly dull. The only bit of excitement  I've had all week was when Gussie Fink-Nottle got stuck up the chandelier in the Drones Club, the utter poop. I'll have to tell you all about it when you get back, seeing as there's no space left on this dashed small postcard. ~~I miss you terribly, old thing.~~ Enjoy the rest of your holiday!_

_B.W Wooster_

 

**Quirk**

Upon entering Mr. Wooster's employ, I observed he often used hand gestures to punctuate his speech. But being possessed of a lively and spirited nature as he is, I was unsurprised by this idiosyncrasy.

His aunts and many a past fiancée however, have found it most objectionable. In one notable instance, I believe his Aunt Agatha termed him “a ridiculous, flailing baboon”.

I, by contrast, have found his habit to be rather charming. There is an elegance in his animated gestures, his long pianist hands like blooming white lilies.

Perhaps this appreciation of his little quirks is my little quirk.

 

**Reply**

_Dear sir,_

_Thank you for the postcard. I am glad to report I have been well thus far, and I hope this postcard will find you in similar good health. I hope Mr. Fink-Nottle was not unduly harmed by his time spent on the chandelier, though I will admit I am curious to learn of the circumstances that precipitated this incident. The weather in France is excellent just now, and the fishing has indeed proven plentiful, much to my satisfaction. I do, however, find myself looking forward to returning to London, rain or no rain. Until then,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Jeeves_

 

**Siblings**

“You _like_ him, don’t you?” Rosamund quirked an eyebrow at me.

I raised an eyebrow of my own to counter hers “I don’t know what you mean, Rosamund.”

The notion of myself harbouring affections for Mr. Wooster was preposterous. Certainly I would admit the man was attractive, with his lithe figure, his dark blonde curls, his trusting blue eyes and his smile that made my breath catch and brought the irrepressible urge to smile back…

Oh. _Oh_.

I sometimes wished my sister did not know me so well as she did.

Silently, Rosamund slid over another slice of Victoria sponge.

 

**Table**

I’d always thought the practice of having servants wait on you during meals was a rather cold one. I understood the need in big houses, of course. But it always felt bally odd that I had to sit alone at the table while Jeeves stood behind me, only shimmering into view to serve the next course or refill my glass. How nice it would be if we could sit side by side, conversing over dinner, knees close enough to touch. Funny, that the man with whom I shared my most troubling problems and deepest confidences could not share my table.

 

**Umbrella**

"Come on Jeeves! Come on!"

"Sir perhaps an umbrella--"

"Oh! Dash umbrellas!"

And before I could register anything further, Mr Wooster had grabbed my hand and charged out the door, straight into the pouring deluge.

We'd just skidded around the corner when I heard Lady Gregson's enraged "BERTIE!" from behind us, but by then we were out of sight.

Mr Wooster grinned, cheeks flushed with exertion and triumph, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes "Close shave, eh, Jeeves?"

"Indeed, sir."

His answering laugh was loud and bright.

And though I was drenched and cold, his hand was warm in mine.

 

**Vacation**

“I must thank you sir, for allowing this trip.”

I hadn't been able to refuse Jeeves when he suggested it, though to be honest, I couldn't refuse him most things these days. And truth be told, Montpellier was a rather pleasant town, all quaint little streets and long stretches of white beach.

And the fact that I was able to witness Jeeves in a swim suit, miles of tanned skin pulled taut over well-built muscles on display…The sight aroused in me an animalistic (if embarrassing) desire to climb him like a monkey up a coconut tree.

“No. Thank _you_ , Jeeves.”

**Wheel**

I must admit I felt a certain amount of trepidation going on the blasted wheel, and the higher our little carriage swayed, the more I regretted the whole thing.

But all my fears were promptly forgotten when the carriage came to a halt at the very top, and the breath was snatched from my lungs.

London was stretched out below us, a shimmering, pulsing sea of light.

"It's stunning," I heard Jeeves breathe, awestruck.

I turned to look at him then, his face all but pressed against the window, eyes sparkling as they reflected the city lights.

 _He_ was stunning.

**Xylophone**

I can count his ribs like the keys of a xylophone, visible as he splashes about the tub every morning. No matter how well fed, Mr Wooster is always a bit too slight, a bit too thin.

I have seen the way he picks at his food miserably whenever he lunches with his Aunt Agatha, barely touching anything on his plate. Sometimes, I wonder.

Sometimes, I wonder if I can play a melody on his xylophone ribs with my tongue, trace the bone under milky skin. I wonder what melody he will sing.

Sometimes, I am tired of simply wondering.

 

**Yet (again)**

"I suppose you know best, Jeeves," I sighed in defeat.

"Thank you, sir," Jeeves said approvingly, and proceeded to exit with a distinctly satisfied shimmer, the ostrich feather waving forlornly over his shoulder as if in farewell.

I looked at the empty space in the wardrobe where the spiffing turban had sat and felt the familiar pang of loss. Of course, I had gotten quite used to losing these sartorial tete-a-tete's between Jeeves and self, but that never lessened the sting of parting with another fruity bit of raiment.  

Still, I suppose for  Jeeves, I would do it yet again.

 

**Zoo**

"Ever spent the night in a zoo Jeeves?"

"No, sir."

"Couldn't advise it. Smells like...a very... smelly place."

"Indeed, sir."

"Bally zebra charged at me and I had to jump over the fence! Evil creatures, zebras."

"Most unfortunate, sir."

"A-are you a zebra, Jeeves?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Wooster nods sagely, "Another thing to add to the list of reasons why I love you, Jeeves."

I falter momentarily, but then remind myself that these are the words of a drunken man, and as such hold no water. No matter how much I might want them to.

"Let's get you home, sir."

**Author's Note:**

> In case Hershey's kisses may sound a little out of time period, I found out they were actually invented way back in 1907! Did not realise they were that old :O
> 
> (I'm toying with the idea of doing a companion fic for this, using all the same prompts but this time with the boys together instead of pining like the silly things they are. Thoughts and suggestions would be most welcome^^)


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